


Whispering Dawn

by magickus



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Biting, Dirty Talk, Estinien's POV, Gross, Hyur Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Love Confessions, M/M, Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Post-Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, Reunions, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, estinien is emo, finally talking about... feelings.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magickus/pseuds/magickus
Summary: It was not the usual chirurgeon that stumbled into his sickroom.
Relationships: Warrior of Light/Estinien Wyrmblood
Comments: 10
Kudos: 157





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> alt title: gay disasters make bad decisions
> 
> this is swiftly turning into a series of my wol charming & boinking all the hot ff14 dudes and do i care? no. he's a good boy and he deserves it.
> 
> hope i got estinien right in this.

Estinien loathed being bedridden, less so for his forced inaction and more for the agony of being alone with his thoughts.

With Nidhogg gone his life became stagnant, purposeless. The zeal which had once driven his life vanished and left him vacant. Before, he was the Azure Dragoon, the one destined to slay Nidhogg and end a thousand-year war. It was what he lived for.

And who was he without it?

He was not given permission to find out. He was to lay in bed and fuse with his sheets until his injuries healed and his captors finally deemed him worthy of release. Nonsense. He suffered worse in his training. Being confined to bed was a more terrible fate than the pain of action.

Had it not been for the implorations of Aymeric and the Warrior of Light, he would have left Ishgard behind weeks ago.

The temptation lingered. Every bell passed with aching slowness in his room and led his gaze to the window and the blue skies beyond. Visitors broke up the monotony, though those too became sparse. Aymeric had a city to rebuild and a government to establish; the Scions and the Warrior of Light had new trials to undertake to save their blasted world.

A knock at his door drew his attention. He glanced at the sun as it approached the horizon. It was already time for another round of healing. The bells passed too slow and too quick in this cursed room. He pushed himself upright and propped himself against the headboard with an overly indulgent amount of pillows. He grit his jaw and ignored the soreness twinging in his shoulder. “Enter.”

It was not the usual chirurgeon that stumbled into his sickroom. Estinien’s brows rose as the Warrior of Light himself slipped through the door. His eyes stayed low, hidden beneath the messy fringe of his white hair. He kept his chin down as he closed the door behind him. He looked everywhere except at Estinien’s face, and especially not his eyes. Small hands picked at the edge of a wrap of fresh bandages.

Estinien bit back his surprise. He settled into his mound of pillows. “The chirurgeons must be understaffed.”

Claran shot him an offended look. It took an impressive amount of willpower not to smile.

“They are quite capable,” he said. Claran sat in the chair waiting at Estinien’s bedside. “I… ah.” Estinien watched his shoulders hunch, his gaze moving down to the scratchy blankets. The vibrancy Estinien brought forth with his teasing disappeared once more beneath a heavy shroud of meekness. “I volunteered, actually.”

How saccharine. If Estinien did not know better he would assume the vaunted Warrior of Light was _a_ _fraid_ of him.

Claran was a talented healer, however, so Estinien put up no protest. Claran mumbled a vague request for his permission, to which Estinien responded with a grunt. Claran moved in slow, aborted motions. He reached for Estinien’s bare arm, then stopped with his hand outstretched, teeth worrying his lower lip.

Estinien was not in any sort of hurry, but this was driving him insane. “Get on with it.”

Claran jumped at his voice and nodded. He took Estinien’s arm into his lap and pulled in close. His faerie fluttered to life with a chime at his shoulder. Claran pressed his hands to the gnarled circle of damaged skin on Estinien’s left forearm, a spiderweb of scars reminding him of his mistakes. A pleasant sensation bloomed from the point of contact, Claran's healing aether soothing the burn in his veins.

Claran never touched him like this outside of battle. Claran was too shy, too soft, too complacent. He bent over backwards for people who did not give the slightest damn about him. He cared far too much and had an irritating habit of apologizing for minor inconveniences. Estinien had never even heard Claran _swear_. 

When Claran had initially been introduced to him as the Warrior of Light Estinien almost laughed. Of course, he had been proven wrong when Claran took down a primal like it was nothing more than a _chore_. Yet still Claran treated him like he had some contagious plague, like he was a more fearsome foe than a damned primal.

There was once, in the Aery, when they faced down Nidhogg together for what Estinien had assumed would be the first and _last_ time. As he bore the Eye and earned the ire of a wave of wyrms, the Warrior of Light had pressed hands burning with magic to the worst of his wounds and brought him to his feet once more. He was determined, fierce, certain. For the first time Estinien saw not the shy, quiet scholar he met at Dragonhead, but the warrior that everyone admired.

Estinien could still feel the sting of the Deathflare Claran brought down on him when Nidhogg had been in control of his body.

Though their journeys had brought them close enough where Claran could loosen up a little around him, there was still an air of discomfort surrounding them. Here, there was no impending doom to worry about— at least to his knowledge— and Claran could not possibly avoid him, so Estinien took the opportunity to observe. Claran’s hands were as soft as they looked, suited only for the turning of pages and as a channel for aether. He could detect no sign or hint of battle on the brown skin disappearing into Claran’s clothing. There were no scars, no bruises. Despite the ordeals Claran withstood on a near daily basis he came out remarkably unscathed.

Claran shifted. He glanced up, then back down just as quick when he accidentally met Estinien’s gaze. “I— you, um…” He cleared his throat. “I-I have to do the… the other one. Can you...”

Claran gestured vaguely at Estinien’s shoulder, incapable of making one simple request. It was like pulling teeth with him. Hanging on to the barest thread of his patience, Estinien leaned forward to yank his cotton shirt over his head and tossed it to the side. Claran caught it, spluttering, then folded it into a neat little square which he placed on the bedside table. Estinien rolled his eyes.

“You are not a housewife.” Claran tensed.

“P-Perhaps not,” he said, to Estinien’s amusement. “But… I am your friend. If you won’t take care of yourself, I will.”

Claran came closer, leaning over him to attend the other knot of scarring in Estinien’s shoulder. Deep shadows hung beneath Claran’s eyes, his skin purple and bruised. He tried to recall if he ever witnessed the Warrior of Light sleep during their travels. He came up blank. He understood in some way. Sleep brought vulnerability and demons he could not ignore, but without it his mind was slow and his body exhausted. How Claran managed to survive this long with so little was a mystery to him.

Thinking of their shared journey brought up a different memory. Something he had brushed off and cast aside in his single-minded drive to see Nidhogg defeated. There had been one quiet moment on the road where Claran had stolen away in the dead of the night. When he had not immediately returned Estinien checked after him. He expected to find the small scholar caught in the jaws of some beast, or distracted by a patch of wildflowers he often stopped their party to collect.

Instead Estinien found him in the midst of his own pleasure. He had one hand clamped over his mouth and the other in his trousers, working desperately. The sight had captivated him for but a moment before he discarded it as unimportant. Estinien did not care what the Warrior of Light did to relieve his own stress and did not linger. As he left that night the faint hint of Claran’s voice hit his ears and travelled hot down his spine. He told himself it was nothing, that he was hearing things, but he _knew_. He simply chose to ignore it.

Claran had moaned his name.

It was easy to shrug it off when he was fixated on one goal, but now that the memory resurfaced, it was impossible to ignore or deny it any longer. The pieces fell into place: Claran's nervousness around him, the way his eyes lingered on his body when he assumed Estinien would not notice, empty excuses to be close without ever touching him. He disdained distractions then, but now…

Claran’s hands moved gently against his skin. He was so small, so slight, the farthest thing from a warrior Estinien could picture. He came up to Estinien’s chest, had no visible muscle, and could hardly lift a heavy book, let alone a lance or a sword. His eyes darted to the sliver of Claran's wrist visible above his sleeve. His skin stretched thin around birdlike bones, barely thicker around than the hilt of his lance. He could hold both those wrists in one hand with ease, hold them down while he…

 _Damn_.

Unlike Claran, Estinien was not one to dance around an issue. Claran may be content to stew in his feelings for the rest of eternity, but Estinien was not.

“Why did you come here?” Estinien asked.

Claran froze. His faerie looked between them both rapidly, then disappeared in a puff of sparkles. Claran immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusion. “I… Ah. Was it bad? Should I not have—”

“It is _f_ _ine_ ,” Estinien bit. His patience hung by a thread. “Stop avoiding the question.”

Claran stoppered the flow of healing aether and sank back into his chair. He stared at his hands, twisting his fingers in the hem of his shirt. “I… I just… I wanted to… I’m sorry.”

There he went, apologizing over nothing. “For _what?_ ”

“N-nothing, I—”

“ _Claran_.”

He shrank further into his chair and made himself look as small as possible. Estinien wondered if he had misread the situation, if Claran’s stuttering and fleeting glances all these moons had been something else. Perhaps he really had misheard Claran that night.

He opened his mouth to tell Claran to forget about it, but a small voice stopped him.

“I was so afraid,” he whispered. Estinien snapped his mouth shut. “I-I thought I was going to lose you, Estinien. I was terrified that I wasn’t strong enough, that I was going to let you down, that I wouldn’t be able to see you again, of being the one t-to—”

Claran let out a shaking breath. Estinien floundered. This was not at all what he had assumed. It was too far, too deep.

“I have… come to care for you a great deal, Estinien,” Claran continued. “I just… I— You— You’re very dear to me. And I wanted to show that. Before...”

“Before what?”

“The chirurgeons said they will discharge you soon, and I’ll run out of excuses to see you. I wanted to see for my own eyes that you… that you were okay. Just in case anything happens.”

Claran fell silent. The pieces came together but the image they shaped was different. Perhaps at the beginning his initial suspicion had been correct, but at some point everything shifted and brought them… here. Estinien stared at Claran, perplexed. He had to be wrong. He had to check.

“ _Look at me_ _._ ”

It came out rougher than he intended. Claran startled in his seat and his head snapped up. Estinien grasped his jaw before he could hide away again and met Claran’s gaze. His eyes were doe-like, large and round, a rich dark brown in color. His lashes were as white as his hair and too damn long. Claran's brows knit, his eyes gleamed, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He wore his feelings on his sleeve and Estinien read him like he was one of those codexes he lugged at his hip.

His suspicions were confirmed. Claran was in love with him.

But _why_ _?_ Why would Claran, the _Warrior of Light_ , be in love with him? He expected a simple attraction, a desire, easily remedied by one quick roll. Estinien spurned such feelings for good reason before, knowing the weakness they brought, the burden it would place on him. He never had time for romantic fantasies.

But that was then, and this was now, and the future was so uncertain. Claran’s eyes darted for a brief moment down to Estinien’s mouth and sealed his fate.

Estinien surged forward and kissed him.

Claran squeaked against his mouth. Estinien tangled his fingers into snowy white locks and pulled Claran forward, hauling him up onto the bed. Claran’s lips were soft and warm against his, yet far too still. The lack of reciprocation forced Estinien to pull away.

Claran gaped at him. He pressed his fingers to his lips. “I-I… You…”

Estinien chewed through his impatience and answered Claran’s unspoken question with a curt, “ _Y_ _es._ ”

It was his turn to be surprised as Claran descended onto him. They kissed again, properly this time. Claran’s lips moved against his, pressing close, parting without guidance under his own. Estinien rumbled his approval and maneuvered Claran properly into his lap. Claran straddled his hips, small thighs framing his larger form. He slipped his tongue into Claran’s mouth and savored his taste, hungered after the faint noise he earned. He recalled in startling clarity Claran ducked behind the rocks, thrusting into his own hand, muffling his desperate cries for the one he wanted, for _Estinien_.

His need overcame him. It had been too long since he indulged in this. His knee moved up between Claran’s legs and pressed against the bulge forming in his trousers. Claran gave him what he sought, moaning into his mouth. Estinien pressed harder, ravenous, teeth scraping and pulling at Claran’s lips.

“E-Estinien, wait—” Claran gasped, and the sound cast him alight, consumed him. " _Stop_ _!_ "

It all came crashing to a halt. Estinien jerked back, breathing hard. He felt like he just dunked his head in the Coerthas River. Claran’s lips were red and swollen from his harsh treatment, skin flushed and pupils swallowing the faint brown in his eyes. “We should slow down,” he said. Estinien growled, but Claran did not budge. “Your injuries—”

“—are _fine_ ,” Estinien cut in. He bent down to kiss the tantalizing slope of Claran’s throat. Claran exhaled.

“If you feel _any_ pain, stop,” he ordered. “I will know if you don’t.”

Death might finally come for Estinien if he was made to stop now, but Claran was being _firm_ with him. He acquiesced and moved to kiss Claran’s smile, but a finger against his lips stopped him in his tracks. He restrained the powerful urge to bite.

“Bear with me one more moment,” Claran said. His eyes twinkled. “Please.”

If Estinien had to wait _one more moment._.. He growled, but leaned back, allowing Claran to do whatever his little heart desired. Claran hummed and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, ducking out of the way with a giggle as Estinien chased after more.

Claran kissed his neck instead, then his shoulder. He paused around the scar Nidhogg’s eye left behind. The attention skirted the dangerous edge of too-soft, but Claran did not linger long. He continued down, his lips and tongue leaving a burning trail down Estinien’s torso. Delicate fingers tugged at the waistband of his trousers.

He steeled himself, but the first touch of lips against his cock almost knocked the wind out of him. Estinien looked down at Claran bent between his legs, lips parted, the tip of his soft pink tongue pressed against Estinien’s shaft. The eagerness in his eyes did not match the deliberate, slow drag of his tongue, up from the base to the swollen crown. Claran moaned like Estinien’s dick was some delectable treat for him to lap up, to _savor._

“ _Fuck_ ,” Estinien snarled. He twisted his fingers into the sheets to spare Claran’s hair the same fate. He expected a demure, whimpering mess beneath him, but the molten eyes that stared into his were anything but.

Claran swallowed him down. The heat of his mouth scorched him. He hummed and Estinien felt every note bolt down his spine to kindle the arousal coiled in his belly. Estinien jerked his hips up on instinct and Claran’s eyes went wide.

He feared for a brief moment that was too much, but Claran simply readjusted and lowered his head further. Estinien slid to the back of Claran’s throat, encased completely in blissful wet heat. His resistance gave and he reached out, fingers tangling in snowy locks, holding Claran’s head still as he thrust up once, shallow but enough that Claran’s eyes darkened and a whine bubbled from his throat.

Estinien groaned and pulled Claran up and off. Claran whimpered and pawed at his thighs. “I wanted to make you come,” he said. His soft voice was breathless and strained. He licked his lips. “I wanted to taste you.”

By the Fury.

“I will have _all_ of you,” Estinien growled. He pushed Claran onto his back and tugged impatiently at his clothes. He tightened his grip and nearly ripped the damned things off, but Claran touched the backs of his hands and stilled him. Estinien sat, stupefied, as Claran meticulously shucked his multitude of layers, folded them neatly, and tucked them out of the way. He laid back beneath Estinien, squirming until he found a comfortable position. He stared up expectantly.

“...Are you finished?”

Claran smiled sheepishly. He handed Estinien a bottle of medical lubricant. Where it came from Estinien did not know, nor did he care. He was far too busy admiring the full expanse of Claran's body, finally freed from a prison of unflattering clothes. He was as soft as Estinien assumed, the faintest suggestion of muscles hidden beneath curves. Another one of Estinien’s assumptions was proven wrong when his eyes landed on the line of four parallel marks slashed into Claran’s slightly rounded belly, brought by some sort of beast. Claran shifted and spread his legs a little wider, hard cock twitching against his stomach. Estinien watched as a drop of precum slid down his length. “I… I hope this is okay,” he said. His eyes darted to the side, arms tucked close against his frame. "I-If I'm not to your liking—"

Estinien was going to eat him alive.

He slicked up a finger and pushed it into Claran before he could finish that thought. Claran keened and tipped his head back, swallowing back his words. Estinien chased the bob of his throat with his teeth and tongue, sucking brilliant marks into his skin. He grasped Claran’s waist, admiring how the curve fit against his palm, the give of supple flesh beneath him. He prodded within, searching, and received a sharp cry.

“There!”

Estinien’s mouth closed around a pert nipple as he curled his finger against that spot. Claran breathed hard, shifting and writhing under his hands. His body reacted to the barest movement, demanding more, taking him in deeper and deeper. Two fingers rewarded him with a strained groan. Claran’s head tipped to the side, lips parted, brows furrowed.

“ _Hurry_.”

Now _he_ was being told to hurry. Estinien narrowed his eyes and pressed hard against Claran’s prostate in revenge.

“A-Ah! Estinien— _nnh_ — p-please!”

His own impatience won out. He indulged in a few more teasing thrusts before extracting his fingers completely. Another handful of lubricant slicked up his cock and the fluttering ring of Claran’s hole. Claran whimpered, pawing at his shoulders.

Estinien gave in to his impulsive desires. He clasped his wrists in one hand and pinned them down onto the bed. Claran’s gasp transformed into a wail as Estinien pushed inside.

Claran was molten, feverish. Slick, tight heat surrounded Estinien, pulled him in ilm by ilm until his hips met the curve of Claran’s ass. Estinien hunched over his smaller form, one hand lifting his hips, keeping him still as they rested flush together.

“E-Estin...ien,” Claran managed. His voice trembled. “P-Please, please… I-I need…”

His yearning consumed him. Estinien growled and pulled his hips back, torturously slow, until only the head was inside. Claran whined, shivering in his grasp. His eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Estinien slammed into him. Claran sobbed. He stopped holding back.

He let loose the intensity that built as he waited for this. From that night at the camp until now, seated deep inside Claran, he had been _waiting_. It awakened something dark inside him, a snarling beast that reared his head and bade him _take_.

And he did. Claran mewled as he drove in over and over, his voice high and strained. Claran heaved for each breath as Estinien fucked him hard. His expression slackened with pleasure, eyes hot and black.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Claran choked. Coming from anyone else Estinien would not have batted an eye, but from Claran it sounded so debauched, so _filthy_. Estinien greedily quickened his pace. Claran’s insides slid smooth against his cock. He wanted nothing more than to pull more of those sounds from him, to make him come undone over and over, to bury himself in this tight heat and fill him up.

The noises of their joining echoed in the room. The slap of skin on skin and the slick slide of Claran’s hole were almost lost beneath his voice. Every small movement made him keen and cry out, his moans high and wanton and needy. Estinien kissed him briefly to muffle him, but as he pulled away Claran continued.

“You’re loud,” Estinien grunted. Claran bit his lip and his moans ceased.

A surge of possessiveness sparked in him. “No,” he hissed. Claran opened his mouth and gasped as Estinien thrusted harder. “Let them hear. Let them know how good I make you feel. Who you _belong to_.”

A tear slid down Claran’s temple. Estinien would have been concerned if Claran had not suddenly tightened around him. “Y-Yes,” he panted. “Yes…! E-Estinien!”

Estinien released Claran’s wrists to get a more certain grip on his hips. He lifted him up, his torso and lower body raised off the bed. The change deepened the angle of his cock, and Estinien pounded into him hard. It was dirty and carnal and greedy, dragging near-screams from Claran’s throat. His spine bowed under the onslaught as Estinien pulled him onto his cock. “Fuck!” he gasped again. “Fuck, fuck, Estinien! Estinien, I-I love you, I love you—”

Estinien groaned and sank his teeth into Claran’s neck. Claran’s cry choked off and he went painfully tight around Estinien’s cock. He convulsed as Estinien worked him through his orgasm, losing all hints of finesse in favor of chasing his own release. Claran let out a hoarse moan in his ear and Estinien pulled back, licking blood from his lips, staring into Claran’s captivating expression of ecstasy. Claran reached up with shaking hands and cupped Estinien's cheeks, brushed his bangs from his eyes and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear.

Estinien came so hard he blacked out.

He fell forward and braced himself on his forearms, barely managing to spare Claran from his deadweight. He rested his brow against the pillow and fought to catch his breath. He had not felt this winded since he was a recruit. He was dimly aware of gentle motions against his skin, a soft whisper in his ear. He pulled out of Claran’s heat and flopped boneless onto his side.

Claran made himself comfortable in Estinien’s arms. Estinien stared down at the top of the Warrior of Light’s head as he burrowed himself against his chest and curled up into a little ball. This was not how he expected to pass the day, but he was far from complaining.

“Love you,” Claran mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

Claran dozed off soon after and spared Estinien from responding. Estinien peered down at him, finally catching that glimpse of the Warrior of Light asleep. He was certainly fond of Claran, but love he could not say for certain. He could not attribute himself with loving anyone.

Though, this was likely as close as he would come. He gazed at Claran’s sleeping expression and pressed a kiss to his brow. Something too close to regret tasted bitter on his tongue, but he did not stop.

He let Claran wake to an empty bed and an open window.


	2. And So We Meet Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warrior of Light reunites with Estinien in the Rising Stones. Things are... tense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wrote up a continuation/epilogue of these two for funsies and also i really like their dynamic. krile sees all and she judges.

The atmosphere in the Rising Stones was… tense. Despite the Warrior of Light having made his triumphant return to the Source, the remaining members of the Scions forewent their planned raucous celebration and cleared out the Rising Stone in ten seconds flat.

Estinien had shown up, after all, and the wounded looks the Warrior of Light kept sending him spelled trouble. It was best to let them sort it out in private.

Claran kept his mouth firmly shut as Estinien tersely regaled him and Krile with his escapades in Garlemald— though in the end, the Echo made a far better report. As soon as Claran surfaced, blinking and disoriented from his vision, Estinien had already gathered himself up and announced that since his work was done, he would be taking his leave.

Fear shot cold and cruel down Claran's spine. The hurt he had been desperately trying to ignore reared up once again. Estinien was leaving him again, after months of _nothing._ There was no letter and no visit, even after Estinien plucked him from the jaws of death. He barely said a word to him since he arrived, directed most of his report to Krile, and refused to _look_ at him.

Did he even remember what they shared? How Claran had opened himself up? Did he _care?_ Oh, Claran knew he should never had said anything, never had let his stupid feelings get the better of him, for now Estinien plainly loathed him and was desperate to get away as soon as he could.

It was pathetic how terribly Claran still loved him.

Claran was not so cruel as to force Estinien to remain in his presence for his own selfish reasons. He bit back the noise of agony growing behind his teeth and smiled, tight-lipped and polite. "Stay safe," he said quietly, fighting off the tremble lurking in his voice. It was a plea.

Estinien looked at him. His steel blue eyes were cold and unreadable, unchanged since the last time Claran found himself close enough to look into them. He held Estinien's gaze for a single heartbeat before it became too much to bear. He turned his head away, gaze fixed firmly to the floor.

Unbeknownst to the Warrior of Light, Krile keenly observed every action, and found herself, at best, unimpressed. A sharp jab against Estinien's shin made him grunt and look down, meeting a deadpan stare, folded arms, and a tapping foot.

Krile glanced at Claran and back. She raised an eyebrow and inclined her head towards him. One last meaningful look announced her exit as she trotted with surprising agility out the door and locked it behind her. Estinien knew far better than to argue.

"...Claran."

The sound of his name in Estinien's voice startled him. He jolted and hugged himself tight, still keeping his eyes fixed firmly to the floor. Was that too much? He should have kept his mouth shut. He should have known better than to say anything. Heat pricked behind Claran's eyes but he stubbornly refused to let himself cry.

He heard footsteps. Claran's head snapped up, eyes wide as Estinien advanced upon him, his eyes stormy and brow furrowed, as if he was charging into battle. Claran stepped back quickly, his feet stumbling to keep up with Estinien's much longer stride. His efforts were for naught as his back hit the wall and Estinien crowded him against it, an arm beside his head to keep him caged as Estinien loomed like a thundercloud above him.

Claran loathed the elation he felt at having Estinien so close, _looking_ at him. He truly was pathetic. His anxiety came to a rapid boil, burning hot, threatening to spill over.

Estinien opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Claran's got the better of him. "I'm sorry!" he blurted. He slapped a hand over his mouth a moment too late.

"For what?" Estinien asked. Claran floundered. He fished for the least pitiful explanation he could muster.

"For… for saying… what I said. That night. I—" Estinien's eyes narrowed. Claran's gut twisted itself into knots and he quickly stared at Estinien's shoulder instead. "N-nevermind!" he said quickly, shaking his head as he flattened himself further against the wall, hoping it would open up and swallow him whole. "I'm sorry, I-I shouldn't have brought it up. I never should have said anything."

"You're still apologizing over nothing."

Somehow that… hurt. Immensely. It felt as if Estinien had struck him. "Over _nothing?"_ he echoed, aghast. "Do you… I…"

Estinien thought it was nothing. Unimportant. It wasn't worth being upset over, Claran was just being melodramatic and sensitive, as usual. "Never mind," he begged. "Please never mind, Estinien. It's not important. You should go, before it gets late."

He watched Estinien's chest rise and fall. He made no move, keeping Claran trapped against the wall. The silence stretched on for an eon. Claran did not understand why Estinien refused to leave. Was that not what he wanted?

"I hurt you," Estinien said, so quiet that Claran must have misheard.

"Wh-what?"

"That night," Estinien explained. His voice strained around every word, as if they fit uncomfortably on his tongue. "In my room. You gave me far more than I deserve, a piece of yourself that should have gone to someone more worthy than I. Having you so close…" Estinien paused to take a long, deep breath. "I was too much of a coward to face it. It hurt you when I left. I can see that it still hurts you."

Claran shook his head, blinking rapidly to fight back his stinging tears. "No, I… I moved too quickly. I knew I overwhelmed you and I shouldn't have—"

"Stop blaming yourself for something that is entirely _my fault."_

Claran clamped his mouth shut, trembling. Holding back his emotions grew more and more difficult.

Estinien took another deep breath. "You deserve far better than the treatment I gave you," Estinien said. "And I will not make the same mistake again."

This was far too much for him to handle. Claran chanced meeting Estinien's gaze and found himself locked with something raw and open, and immediately the feedback of Estinien's pain crashed over him like a wave beating against a crumbling cliff. The tears he held back began a steady stream down his cheeks. He drew in hiccuping breaths and sniffled and Estinien's eyes grew torturously soft. Gods. It was too much.

"Forgive me," Estinien said. "I swear to you it will not happen again."

"I-I know," Claran managed between bitten-back sobs. "I know. I still… Estinien, I still—"

"I know." Estinien drew in close. He placed a hand beneath Claran's chin and tipped his head up. "So do I."

He leaned forward and the distance between them finally closed.


End file.
